Servant of the Valar
by RHP24
Summary: The Marchwarden can feel the threat of the Dark Lord rise again, but he questions the will of the Free People. When the sons of Elrond take him and Orophin to Fornost, the realm of the Dunedain, he learns of the resilience of Men. R&R please
1. Chapter 1

The crimson cloak streamed off to the side, swaying in unison with the boughs overhead as a gentle breeze swept through the forest. A clear, azure sky was seen through scattered openings in the canopies, and the sun slowly reached its zenith. Everything looked familiar, yet, it all _felt _different, as if a stirring had formed in the Great Sea and caused a rippling affect that spread over the land.

There was something familiar about the disturbance that settled over the world. The Marchwarden had felt it before, when he threat from the South had been great and troublesome. That had been a past age, when all had almost fallen under the dominion of the Dark Lord. Such time was dark, indeed, but the Marchwarden accepted such times as a part of his life, and that he was to never forget about it.

The Lady of the Golden Wood had brought troubling news to her people, and all were dismayed. Even the Marchwarden had felt his hope diminish like his kin to the West; did they have strength enough to challenge the Dark Lord again? Although he hated to admit it, the Dark Lord was a cunning being whose thirst for violence and suffering had led to his downfall. Could it happen again?

Although peace had not fully settled over the land, it had been an improvement from such dark times. It seemed the world was beginning to heal from the destruction caused by the Dark Lord's minions, and now the wounds were to be torn asunder once again. The Marchwarden was confident in the resilience of his kinsmen, of his Lord and Lady and of his cousins in other realms, but his heart doubted Man. The greed of Isildur foretold the doom of Men.

_Do not allow your heart to give in to doubt_, a soft but powerful essence swept into his mind. _Hope always fades before it grows, again. Always is the last hour of the night the darkest._

The Marchwarden bowed his head; the words of the Lady were comforting. His Lord and Lady were wise beings, and were the greatest contributors to the Galadhrim's prosperity. Never had the stirring of war been heard amongst his people since the march for the Dagorlad, under the rule of Amdír and later his son Amroth. The Marchwarden recalled the Lords, strong-willed and good rulers, yet impatient and hot-tempered. Thus was the doomed fate of Amdír.

Such brashness made the Marchwarden think that all was lost, that the Dark Lord could master the minds of the peoples and completely dominate them. He remembered the fear when such notion first entered his head, and as he stood amongst his fellow Galadhrim on that fateful day, he looked upon Barad-dûr with dread and wondered what evil would emit from there.

"You are troubled, brother," the voice from behind brought the Marchwarden from his bleak thoughts. Turning, he found a familiar face looking at him with an expression of concern. Orophin was said to be a spitting image of the Marchwarden, and clearly the latter took pride in that. It made the Marchwarden think; Elrond and his twin Elros were similar in features, but their bond was doomed when the Lord of Imladris remained an Elf and his brother took the title 'Tar-Minyatur' of Númenor. There were also Elrond's sons, the twins Elladan and Elrohir, who were considered close to the Marchwarden. Were they destined for doom as their father?

"All is well, _muindor_," said the Marchwarden, placing his hand on Orophin's shoulder. "Brooding on old memories can make one grim."

"Especially when such memories were filled with pain and suffering," said Orophin.

The Marchwarden nodded, he nearly lost his life on the Battle Plains after a stray arrow had struck his arm and the Orc-poison had swept over his body like a great tide. The fever state he had fallen into had kept him from celebrating the downfall of the Dark Lord with the survivors.

"Remember the past, but do not brood upon it," continued Orophin. He had said this countless times to his brother, yet there were times when the Marchwarden failed to heed his advice. "Come, Haldir, the camp is nearly complete and many of the wardens are preparing their meals."

Haldir nodded and let his hand fall from his brother's shoulders. It was their last day on the marches, and he looked forward to the splendor of his home.

Laurelindórenan, Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, truly sang to him.

*********

Great Sea- the Sundering Sea, west of Middle-Earth

Tar-Minyatur- 'High first-ruler' title of Elros, first King of Númenor

Laurelindórenan- Quenya name for Lothlorien


	2. Chapter 2

Haldir stood rigid under the sharp gaze of his Lord and Lady, piercing eyes seeming to look straight into his heart. He could feel the Lady's presence in his mind, standing on the borderline from entering his thoughts and discerning what truly bothered him.

Beside him, his brother Orophin was not as nervous in the Lord and Lady's presence. They had sent him as a messenger, but when he tried to remove himself from the chamber the Lady's voice in his mind told him to stay.

In the presence of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, one could not be armed. This made Haldir even more uncomfortable, his sword was as much as a part of him as his own arms. Although he was perhaps the most favored Galadhel to the Lord and Lady, he was not immune from certain laws.

"As a friend speaking to another," said the Lord Celeborn, speaking slow and deep. "I request that you ease your nerves, Haldir. You have served us for far too long, and I would figure you comfortable when in the same room with us."

The Lady Galadriel laughed a sweet noise the spilled over Haldir and calmed him, if only a little. "You stand like an elfling about to be scolded," then, her voice entered Haldir's mind. _You are like a son to me, as is your brothers who serve us so faithfully. The one command you cannot follow should be the easiest to obey, should it not?_

Haldir nodded, and from the corner of his eye he saw a smile play across Orophin's lips. He scowled at his brother's teasing, but when he looked up he saw the Lady's attention drawn to his brother, and Orophin's smile slowly faded away.

"You are troubled, Marchwarden," said Celeborn. "News of the Dark Lord has truly plagued your thoughts."

Haldir looked at him, a quizzical expression on his face. "I beg your pardon, my Lord?"

Celeborn laughed and descended the dais in which he stood upon. He came face to face with the Marchwarden; they were of similar height, and the Lord's crystal blue eyes were mystical as Haldir looked into them.

"You may be the most stalwart of the Galadhrim," continued Celeborn, "but your heart is easiest to read. Be wary, Haldir, for such revelation can be a weakness if one with ill-intention ever discovered it."

"Forgive me, my Lord, if I have done something wrong," said Haldir. Behind the Lord, he watched as Lady Galadriel glided down to come beside Celeborn's shoulder. She laid a gentle hand on her husband's shoulder.

"Come, my Lord, now is not the time to speak of such things," she pulled Celeborn away. With her back to Haldir—if the Lady was a regular Galadhel, Haldir would have found it insulting—she whispered something to her husband's ear.

When the two regained their thrones, the Lady exchanged glances with Haldir and Orophin. "You both are familiar with the sons of Elrond, the children of my daughter. Many times they walked through these woods and you both in the valley of Imladris. You consider them brothers-in-arms, do you not?"

Haldir and Orophin simultaneously nodded. They remembered Elladan and Elrohir's fierceness when it came to hunting Orcs, an event Haldir and his brothers had accompanied with them many times. Ever since the capture of their mother Celebrían, they were no long the worriless twins who disturbed the peace and tranquility of not only their own home, but Haldir's, as well. They were now grim, a foreign characteristic for one of Haldir's kinsmen.

_I too and uncomfortable with their change_, the Lady's voice swept through his mind like a gentle breeze. _I loved my daughter very much, as did Lord Elrond. Both him and I have seen many tragedies, have seen many loved ones suffer from the servants of the Dark Lord, but I am afraid it is different for my grandchildren._

Haldir agreed. He had mourned for the twins' lost, as well. He remembered the joyous image of Celebrían, of how she cared for Haldir as if he was her own son. And, Haldir has shared the rage Elladan and Elrohir felt, but his experience as a warrior had refrained him from extracting his revenge.

"With evil reborn into this world, Imladris and Lothlórien are relying on one another for safety and protection," said Celeborn. "Many are making for the Grey Havens, where Círdan the Shipwright is welcoming all those who wish to make for the Undying Land."

"Our time is over, Haldir," said Galadriel. "The one race you doubt the most could be the ones who save this world. Though Men failed to end evil for all eternity, they have been given a second chance of proving their worth."

Haldir swallowed. "My Lord and Lady, the world of Men are leaderless. No longer is Gondor powerful, their power has crumbled to dust since the lost of their King, and they are ruled by lesser men." _Curse the greed of Isildur_, he thought, the insult dealt thousands of years ago still fresh.

"The heir of Isildur is nigh, Haldir," said Celeborn.

_I have foreseen this,_ Galadriel's voice was gentle in Haldir's mind. _He will come to us in the darkest hour. With him he will bring the memory of his ancestors. Little hope there is in this world, nevertheless there _is _hope._

"Ride to Imladris, Haldir and Orophin," said Celeborn, "and you will learn the truth of what my wife speaks. Elladan and Elrohir have known the secret for some time, and you will to…in time."

The Lord and Lady rose together. "Go, Haldir and Orophin, my most faithful of the Galadhrim," said Galadriel. "Ride for Imladris, and the truth will be revealed to the both of you."

As Haldir and Orophin turned away, Haldir was stopped by the Lady's presence. _Keep faith, Haldir_.

Haldir did not turn, but closed his eyes before walking off.

**Author's Note: Sorry for the sudden ending, but I wanted this chapter over with. Thank you Faine for your feedback, and I hope you enjoy more of this in the future.**


	3. Chapter 3

The study was lit only by the fire in the hearth; shadows lengthened in the corners as no one cared to light the torches in decorative sconces hanging from the walls. Evening deepened through the windows, an array of red, orange and purple illumed the western sky as the sun slowly sank.

The Lord of Imladris sat alone as the world slowly grow quiet. To most aging peoples of Middle-earth, they would not have noticed the great change in the world, but Elrond did. There was a different feeling in the wind, whenever it swept through the valley. The land seemed different, as well, as if it aged and grew weary.

Elrond's desk was littered with missives from the border patrols, and he was troubled with the reports from the Trollshaws. Trolls had begun to become more active, and the patrols watched that land more closely than ever. Luckily, there had been no interference between his Elves and the Trolls; Elrond could not risk the lives of his kinsmen when such dark times were becoming more frequent.

He had his back to the desk, his mind weary and his eyes strained from reading. Instead, he looked at the heirloom hanging over the fireplace. He looked upon Hadhafang with…desire? He could not recognize the feeling he had whenever he looked at the elvish sword. His hands were more accustomed to a quill, not the hilt of a sword. But what could he do? He was a leader, a ruler who gave Elves sanction when they sought to escape from evil. And Imladris was not strong enough to openly challenge the Dark Lord; the reason for the sanctuary's survival was its secrecy from the Enemy.

What was he to do with the old sword? It had faced the forces of the Dark Lord and the Witch-king when he occupied Fornost, and many other battles in the First Age. Was it time for Elrond to finally forsake it? Would he give it to his eldest, or finally put it to rest next to Aeglos? He debated whether or not he would make his decision tonight.

There was a knock at the door of his study. "Enter," said Elrond, gently. His ancient eyes lingered on the weapon before turning to look at his guest.

Glorfindel, once a lord of Gondolin stood underneath the doorway. Although Elrond was considered ancient, Glorfindel was much older. He stood kingly, one of the last descendants of a people nearly gone from the world. Like always, he bore a golden flower on the left breast of his tunic; perhaps a reminder of the life he lost in defense of his city.

"My friend, something ails you," said Glorfindel, his voice smooth as silk. "We missed you at the evening meal, Erestor wanted to speak with you."

Elrond was silent, but his eyes flickered up from his bowed head to regard Glorfindel. His hands were folded before his chin, forefingers together and pressed against his lips. Glorfindel was perhaps his closest friend, especially after the death of Gil-galad thousands of years before.

"My lord, Elrond?" said Glorfindel quietly. He took a seat opposite of Elrond's desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the wood and watching Elrond closely. "What troubles you, Elrond? I have known you long enough to know when your mind is restless."

"I am worried," said Elrond slowly, and truly he was. "The rumors that had spread years past have now seem to come true…our Enemy has returned, and it seems he has grown in strength and power."

Glorfindel nodded. "I have been aware of this, for some time," he said. "But remember, Elrond, as long as we retain the three rings, then he will have opposition."

Elrond shook his head. "We are fading, Glorfindel, you know this to be true. The cry of the seagulls has befallen me, and it pains me to ignore them and focus on the matter at hand," he passed a hand over his face. He longed for the warmth of Celebrían, but that had been taken from him. "We are no longer the masters of this world, our counsel has been scorned. The world of Men is growing, both in strength and in desire. You know this to be true."

Glorfindel did, but he refused to let it trouble him. He knew that both he and Elrond were strong, but that was not enough. The minions of the Dark One were terrifying; Sauron's master had ruined his home, his life. And the Dark One's lieutenant had personally challenged him; the arrogant fool, Glorfindel had felt more fear before the Balrog than the Witch-king.

"There have been many times when we achieved victory when defeat was almost for certain," said Glorfindel. "Can we not do that again?"

Elrond shrugged. "I am not sure, my friend. Men will have to fend for themselves, now. We must look to our own borders; Greenwood and Lothlórien are threatened by Dol Guldur. We cannot aid Men so openly."

"Your sons aid the Dúnedain, do they not? And Aragorn will bring hope to Men," Glorfindel smiled. "You have taught your sons, including Aragorn, everything you know, and they have grown in wisdom and in strength of arms. Have faith, my friend, who knows what the future will bring?"

"Yes," muttered Elrond as Glorfindel rose and made his way towards the door. "Who knows, indeed?"

******

The twins watched Glorfindel depart down the corridor, heading towards the courtyards of Elrond's house. The two exchanged looks of concern; Glorfindel did not walk as proud as he usually did; his shoulders were slightly stooped and he walked in shuffling steps.

Elrohir was the first to enter his father's study, but stopped short, Elladan nearly running into him. His look of anger soon passed to that of question as Elrond had had back towards his sons, and in his hand was his old sword. He went through old techniques, Hadhafang whirling over Elrond's head and coming down in precise slashes.

"The warrior never dies," he said without looking at his sons. He examined the blade, reading the inscription along the blade.

"This blade is called Hadhafang," said Elrohir in Sindarin.

"A noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady," said Elladan, a faint smile as he remembered reading the inscription countless times until it was a part of his memory.

"A noble defense, indeed," said Elrond, placing the blade back to its proper place above the mantelpiece. His hand lingered on the hilt before he withdrew and looked at his sons.

"How were your days with the Dúnedain, my sons?"

Elrohir spoke. "All is well with them, father. Halbarad has kept them in order, and the lands are safe as we know it."

"There has been no incident with Orcs or any other servants of the Dark Lord," said Elladan. "And Aragorn has grown accustomed to the life of a Ranger of the North. He stands kingly amongst them, and he has earned their respect. I think he is ready to retain the title of Chieftain"

"That is good," said Elrond. "He has accepted his destiny; it took so long to convince him he was worthy of the title as Isildur's Heir."

"He is strong, father," said Elladan. "He has the signs of a descendant of Númenor."

"Then I hope he fulfills his destiny," said Elrond, "but he is not the matter of why I wanted to see you. You are familiar with our kin from Lothlórien?"

"Yes," said the twins simultaneously.

"The realm of our grandmother," said Elrohir.

Elrond smiled. "It is good to realize that your memories are not totally selective. The Marchwarden Haldir and his brother Orophin are going to be our guests for as long as they wish. I have received specific instructions from Lady Galadriel: take Haldir and Orophin to the old North-kingdoms and show them the remains of the Dúnedain, do you understand?"

The twins nodded. It had been a while since they last saw their kin from Lothlórien, but they looked forward to seeing them again. Never before had the sons of Elrond shown anybody other than Estel and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, the remnants of the Dúnedain.

"Why, father, has grandmother requested this?" asked Elladan, always seeking answers.

"It seems that Haldir has doubt in his heart," said Elrond. _Much like me_, he thought. "All I can say is that the Lady wishes to prove him wrong, and will have him witness what we keep a dear secret," he looked at Elrohir. "My youngest son, may you step outside for a moment? I wish to speak to Elladan alone."

Elrohir feigned a hurt expression, but he faithfully turned on his heel and exited, closing the door of the study behind him. Once in the corridor, he turned quickly and pressed his ear against the wood. The door was not thick, and Elrond's deep voice could easily be heard.

"My son," said Elrond. He raised a finger and beckoned Elladan closer. Elladan stepped around the table and stood before his father. Elrond placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "There is a matter of inheritance in which I wish to speak to you about."

Elladan raised a hand. "Before you say this, I have a question for you. Do you long for the sword, again? I thought you laid aside your arms after the victory at the slopes of Mount Doom. Did you not swear an oath to never spill blood again?"

Elrond looked at his son. "I thought I did, Elladan, but like I said, the warrior never dies. And the matter of Hadhafang is why I wish to speak to you. I give it to you, for use against our foes. I have just come up with this decision…Glorfindel's words helped me in my decision."

"Glorfindel?"

Elrond nodded. "He is quite fond of you and Elrohir, but he sees a _true _warrior and leader in side of you. I have spoken to him about this many times before, but I never thought I would make the final decision," he turned and retrieved Hadhafang from its place on the mantelpiece. "And I know you are fond of Hadhafang, the sword of our family, carried by my predecessors. I give it to you as an heirloom of our family."

Elladan was shocked, though he kept a resolute face as he took the sword from his father's hands. It was light and well-balanced, and the inscription seemed to glow when he touched it. He looked at his father, and he noticed there were tears in Elrond's eyes.

"I recall when this sword was passed down to me," said Elrond. He fell silent, as if he was calling upon that memory. Then, he shook his head. "Treat it well, my son, for it is dear to me. May Hadhafang drink heartily on the blood of our enemies, no?"

Elladan nodded. Then, he turned the blade over and handed it to his father hilt-first. "Keep it in your possession a little while longer, father," he said. "I wish to tell Elrohir before I accept it. I do not want to offend him."

Elrond smiled. "I agree," he said. "You are truly becoming wise, my son." He placed Hadhafang on the desk, and he embraced his son. Elrond loved him dearly, and admitted he feared for his sons' lives when they hunted Orcs with the Dúnedain. But they were trained by Glorfindel, and they honed their skills to perfection.

"Stay safe, my son," he whispered into Elladan's ear.


	4. Chapter 4

Elrohir was looking at his hands, his hair falling around his face and hiding the hurt that was etched there. The gardens that once belonged to his mother were silent after he dismissed all of the gardeners who cared the flowers in memory of Celebrían.

Sleep had eluded the youngest son of Elrond; his mind was restless, had been for the last few nights. He wondered why he was so uncomfortable, not even the departure of his mother to the Undying Lands left him as unnerved as he was now. He had been filled with anger, then, but that fire was extinguished and he no longer felt joy whenever an Orc lay slain at his feet. Did he feel pity?

Elrohir sighed. The night sky was darted with bright stars, and he made out some of the constellations that Glorfindel had taught him. Yet, as he gazed at the stars, he forgot the figures of the constellations and the stars seemed duller. He closed his eyes, conjuring an image of his mother in his mind. He still grieved for that loss, as did Elladan and their father. But the Lord of Imladris and his eldest brother were skilled enough to hide their pain, but Elrohir made it clear on his face.

He heard footsteps off to his left, and he didn't need to look up to know who it was. He opened his eyes and sat back, running a hand through his hair. He steeled himself, preventing tears from sliding down his cheeks.

"Another sleepless night, I see," said Elladan softly, coming up to the tree where Elrohir sat under. He did not sit next to him, but watched him, eyes filled with worry. He could sense Elrohir's restlessness, but soft words were vainly said due to Elrohir's stubbornness. Elladan could not comfort his brother, but he still tried, wishing to see Elrohir joyful again.

Elrohir did not reply, but nodded his head. When he looked up, Elladan saw his eyes were bloodshot and his face was grim. Elladan let his head drop, unable to recognize the brother who he shared so many adventures with.

"Brother, there is a matter in which I wish to speak to you about," said Elladan. He sat down, but was across from Elrohir.

"It is about Hadhafang," said Elrohir without looking at his brother, but looking off to his left.

Elladan raised an eyebrow. "Then you know," suddenly, he narrowed his eyes. "Can you not respect our father's wish when he said he wanted to speak to me in _private_? He did not say 'Elrohir, step outside but listen through the door.'"

Elrohir's head snapped up, and he met Elladan's glare with one of his own. "What was I supposed to do? It is my nature to listen in on something that concerns my brother and my father. You would have done the same if you were in my position."

"No," said Elladan, shaking his head. "I am wise enough to respect my father's wishes. He gave you an order, Elrohir. You are lucky he did not find out, or he would have given you a lashing with his tongue."

"These days have grown dark," muttered Elrohir. "He would not concern himself with my intrusion," when Elladan did not immediately respond with a dry remark, Elrohir spread his arms. "I am sorry, brother, but you know curiosity is my weakness."

Elladan gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Yes, it is. But make sure it is not your undoing, brother. I do not think I could live with myself if something happened _because _of your curiosity."

"Do not worry," said Elrohir. "I may be a curious Elf, but I can control myself. Do you not trust me anymore?"

"I _do _trust you, Elrohir," said Elladan. "With all my heart, brother," he rose, and pulled is cloak tighter about him as a cold breeze swept through the garden. He looked down at Elrohir; he would put his life in Elrohir's hands without second thought.

"Father has given me Hadhafang," he said. "But only because I am the oldest of his children. Do not grieve, Elrohir, for he bears the same love for you as he does for me. And do not be angry; we have both craved for the heirloom of our family, but it was always father's choice. I love you, brother, I always have. And I cannot be at peace when there is fire between us. Can we forgive each other?"

Elrohir was silent for a while. When he spoke, his voice was shaky and Elladan saw the tears in his brother's eyes. "Yes, we can forgive each other," then, he stood also and placed his hand on Elladan's shoulder. "Forgive me if I have hurt you, brother, and when I see father, I shall tell him of my trespassing."

Elladan smiled, proud to see maturity in his brother. The two embraced, and Elrohir buried his face into his older brother's shoulder. When he withdrew, he received a kiss on his brow.

"_U-moe edaved_. We must remain strong," said Elladan. "For when the sons of Elrond stand in strength, we are the most feared amongst the servants of the Dark Lord, and we are undaunted by his shadow," he took a deep breath, glad of the peace with Elrohir. "Try to sleep, even for a few minutes. We must welcome our friends from Lórien with open arms and smiles."

Elrohir nodded. He looked forward to the reunion with Haldir and his brother. As Elladan turned to leave, Elrohir touched his arm.

"_Muindor_, since you have been given father's sword," Elrohir swallowed, nervous for some reason. "May I wear yours? There is no need for two blades, and although it has been my dream to wear Hadhafang, it has also been my dream to wear yours. May I have it?"

"Of course, brother," said Elladan, and a wide smile broke across his face. His eyes were bright. "It would be an honor to give it to you."

*****

Rúmil watched his brothers make the final adjustments to their horses' bridles. He was leaning up against a _mallorn_, his eyes watching every movement his brother's made. Rúmil wished the Lady had included him on their journey; he had yet to meet the sons of Elrond, but they sounded noble and honorable whenever he heard Haldir or Orophin speak about them.

His brothers would be leaving that afternoon, and Rúmil was one of few elves who wished to see them off. Haldir was clad in his crimson cloak, pinned at a shoulder by a fibula bearing the Mirror of Galadriel, and he wore his sword at his waist. Orophin was dressed in the grey garb of the warden, and a quiver of white-fletched feathers was slung over his back. Beside Rúmil, Taurnil raised his arm as Orophin regarded the two. Haldir turned and smiled, said some words to Orophin and approached them.

"_Mae govannen_, Haldir," said Taurnil. He was a good head taller than Haldir, but it was clear who had more authority. But there was friendship between them; Taurnil had fought alongside Haldir countless times, and more than once had they saved each other's lives.

"It is good to see you from the marches, Taurnil," said Haldir. "And I am glad you came to see us off, brother of mine." He looked at Rúmil. It was evident the resemblance between the eldest and youngest brother: both golden-haired and grey-eyed. They were even the same height, but Haldir was slight broader from more experience of swinging a sword and drawing back a bow.

"Of course, Haldir," said Rúmil. "Though I wish I was joining you. I hear Imladris is a place worth to visit."

"It is," said Haldir, "and you will go there, in due time. _Nadath na i moe cerich_. But I must say farewell, now. We wish our journey be over swiftly, both to and from Imladris," he looked at the trees of the Golden Wood. "Imladris may be fair, but its beauty is insignificant when compared to our home."

Taurnil laughed. "Nothing can be compared," he said. "And let us hope it will always be like that."

Haldir nodded with a grin, and then left the two. Orophin was already mounted, and he had his horse facing the path they would travel by. Haldir stopped at his horse and rubbed its sleek mane and spoke a few words to it. Then, he lightly leapt upon his back.

"_Namarie, muindor_," called Rúmil, raising his hand.

Haldir and Orophin returned the gesture, then spun their horses around and thundered down the path.

"Come, Rúmil," said Taurnil. "Let us resume our lives as they are: uneventful."

Rúmil nodded and followed his friend. _Nadath na i moe cerich_, those words lingered in his mind.

*****

Translations:

_U-moe edaved-_There is nothing to forgive

_Muindor_-brother

_Mae govannen-_Welcome

_Nadath na i moe cerich-_There is much you have yet to do


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: The Elvish words in this chapter I obtained from realelvish .net … sorry, but the Document Manager won't allow me to put the actual adress down. For some reason, it always deletes it. Of course you have to put in the three Ws and take away the space before .net. By all means view the website, for I have learned many things and it has all been helpful. Also, i do not own any of these characters, places, etc, they belong to the Tolkien estate. But i would be lying if i did not wish to own all of it.**

Surprisingly, the days passed swiftly once Haldir and Orophin left their home. They had traveled west, coming to the Naith, where land was wedged between the Silverlode and the Anduin. From there, they made for the Dimril Dale, and then ascended the Dimril Stair and came upon the Redhorn gate.

Haldir had been against the idea of taking this route, but it was the only way. He remembered when the Old Forest Road was used for travel through the mountains, to High Pass that was a truer path to Imladris. It had been a choice between two evils; stone giants roamed the High Pass and many travelers had fallen underneath their stones. The Redhorn Gate was close to Moria, abandoned by the dwarves when a great darkness awoke within the deep chasms.

The mountains were rumored to have been teeming with goblins, preying on stray travelers who were lost in the high passes. Luckily for the brothers, they made haste through the pass without any quarrel. The heavy winds and snow-fall had shielded them…though the cold chill was almost unbearable for the two of them.

Once beyond the Misty Mountains, they followed the Gate-stream, a narrow branch that broke off from the Glanduin. There, they found themselves underneath the holly tress of Eregion, and they hunted for game. They had passed by some ruins of their ancestors, the Noldor who had settled there long ago but were driven out by the forces of the Dark Lord.

Haldir spoke to his brother about Ost-in-Edhil, the Fortress of the Elves. It was the city of the elven-smiths, situated along the Sirannon, the Gate-stream. Haldir explained how the people there were known as Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the people of the Jewel-smiths. In such times, they flourished and traded with the dwarves of Moria.

Then, he fell grim when he spoke of Annatar, the Dark Lord in disguise and how he influenced the great smiths in Ost-in-Edhil. He told Orophin about the forging of the Rings of Power, unbeknownst to them that Annatar was truly the Dark Lord and wished to enslave the all Free Peoples. Then, Celebrimbor forged the Three Rings of the Elves and how they were given, and how the Lady Galadriel bore Nenya and protected the Golden Wood.

"A shame," said Orophin when Haldir ended the tale. He shook his head, and he looked upon the land surrounding them. "This place must have truly been great in such good times, before the wrath of the Dark Lord descended upon us all."

Haldir nodded. "Indeed, brother. It was said Ost-in-Edhil was a great city, full of discovery and craftsmanship," he sighed. "Such days are cherished by those who remember such time."

As they continued their trek through the old land, Haldir found his dreams being plagued by visions of the Noldor settlement. He saw himself walking in some strange city, with tall spires and towers that stood like pikes of pearl and caught the sun on their eastern side. The sound of metalwork could be heard, the roaring of forges' fires and the pounding of hammers against anvils.

And always, every night, he would come upon an elf, standing tall and proud as he overlooked the work of his kin. As Haldir neared him, a bright light shined behind the elf and blinded Haldir. Never did he see the elf's face, for when he lowered his hand he would behold the night sky and Orophin sleeping a few feet away.

Who was this elf that he saw in his dreams? Haldir had heard rumors that old spirits lingered in Eregion, but he had discarded such things as false tales. But what if they were true? Although Haldir's mind rejected such belief, his heart told him he was witnessing the old Elven city when it flourished.

One day, as the brothers rode silently along the Hoarwell, with the rushing water being the only noise; Haldir urged his horse forward and came up beside his brother. Both showed signs of lack of sleep, but Orophin looked better than Haldir.

"_Muindor_," said Haldir. He leaned over in his saddle and looked at Orophin. "My dreams have been…strange of late. Is it the same for you?"

Orophin did not meet Haldir's eyes, and he shrugged. "My dreams have been troubled since we crossed over the Mountains," he said.

"Same here," said Haldir quietly. "My dreams are bringing me to Ost-in-Edhil, as if I had lived in its golden age," he laughed mirthlessly. "It must sound crazy, for I can hardly believe it. But the hammering of the forges seems so real, and that Elf I keep seeing."

"What Elf?" said Orophin.

"I do not know. But he always appears in the same spot, in the heart of the city. I think…no, it's not possible," he shook his head, hopelessly lost. "Forget about it, brother."

"Whatever you say, Haldir," said Orophin, his eyes focused on the shimmering river ahead of them.

Haldir did not reply. He straightened out in his saddle and shook his head. They continued riding in silence, suddenly weary of words and grateful of the peacefulness of the uninhabited land that was once a thriving realm but now a distant memory.

*****

The sword flashed in the sunlight, moving in deadly precision as it arched and swiped at nothing.

"That blade fits well in your hand," said Glorfindel, observing the eldest son of Elrond closely. He was glad Elrond had taken his counsel, for Elladan was truly a deadly warrior.

Elladan looked at the wizened Elf and nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

Glorfindel smiled. "Come now, Elladan, such formalities are not needed between friends as us," he said. "Or, I hope you view us as friends and not master and student."

"Of course," said Elladan, returning Hadhafang to its scabbard hanging on his waist. It felt _right_, hanging from his left hip. It was as if his _fea _was completely, that he was no longer wandering aimlessly while he searched for his other half. If Elrohir heard him speak like that, Elladan would be scorned.

Elrohir's anger had been extinguished that night, in their father's garden, but Elladan knew that his younger brother was avoiding him at all costs. Elladan could not blame him; whenever he had the chance, Elladan would strap Hadhafang to his waist and flaunt it, somewhat, around Imladris. But there was nothing he could do, there seemed to be a bond between him and the old sword, a third brother older than Elladan and Elrohir.

"You are still bothered, _Mellon-nin_," said Glorfindel, coming to stand behind Elladan's shoulder. Elladan was looking at the Last Homely House, and he suddenly had an urge to leave the place and return to the old kingdoms in the North. _May you ride on swift winds, Haldir and Orophin_, he was urgent to be gone from the grimness of his father and the troubling meetings called together by Erestor, the Chief Advisor.

"I should speak to your brother," said Glorfindel. He laid a hand on Elladan's shoulder. "Your father listened to me, so perhaps your brother will listen to my counsel, as well."

"Yes," said Elladan. "He is stubborn, but he has always looked up to you. Surely he will listen to your reasoning."

Glorfindel nodded. He turned and walked a few paces before suddenly halting like he forgot something. "The smiths are done," he said over his shoulder. "Shall I give it to him, or do you want to do the honor?"

Elladan looked at him. "I will do it, 'tis important to him and me."

"Very well, then. I will seek your brother."

*****

"Glorfindel spoke to me today," said Elrohir.

Night had befallen the valley rather quickly, and bright stars were scattered across the dark sky. The moon was crescent, the beginning of its new cycle already at work. The only light in the Hall of Fire was the magnificent hearth that burned year-round. Elrohir was seated within the light, feeling the warmth on his hands and face.

Elladan lingered in the shadows. He carried a linen-wrapped object in his arms, cradling it as if it was a newborn. "And what did he say?" he asked.

Elrohir looked into the shadow. "What any wizened Elf would tell a youngling like me," he said with a smile. "Remain patient, and remember your loved ones."

Elladan mirrored his brother's smile. "Those sound like wise words, do they not?"

Elrohir nodded, and then waved his hand. "Come into the light, it is hard to make you out in such darkness," he rose and arranged a seat next to his.

"I have something for you, _muindor_," said Elladan.

Knowing what it was, Elrohir did not respond but seated himself. Hesitantly, Elladan came beside him and presented the object he carried, still wrapped in blue-linen. Elrohir's eyes flickered to it, then back to the hearth.

"You said you wanted it," said Elladan. "And I give it to you freely. I would have given it to you earlier, but I was not ready. I am now; will you accept it?"

Elrohir chuckled. "Of course, brother," then he rose and he took the object into his hands. It was light in his hands, and he held it by his fingertips. He held by his emotion, his face placid and framed by his dark hair.

With shaky hands, he pulled back the linen and raised the sword in the air. The first thing he saw was the blade, polished and looking as if it had just come from the forge. Then, with a flame of excitement burning in his eyes, he pushed way the covering and clasped both hands around the hilt. The firelight flashed in the blade as he brought it up, and he caught an inscription along the fuller.

"Gîl síla erin lû govaded vîn_,"_ said Elladan_. "_Gwador vell, Crist vîn ristathar i thaind cyth vîn_."_

When Elrohir looked up, tears were in his eyes. The words meant so much to him, to them; it was their oath to keep hunting the _Yrch_. They had sworn it long ago, when much pain was dealt to them. Elrohir gave a weak smile.

"May those words always be true, brother," said Elladan, and he opened his arms as Elrohir rushed to embrace him.

"Yes," whispered Elrohir. "We shall not falter."

*****

_Fea_-Soul

_Mellon-nin_-Friend

_Gîl síla erin lû govaded vîn-_a star shines over the time of our meeting

_Gwador vell, Crist vîn ristathar i thaind cyth vîn-_Beloved brother, our swords will cleave the shields of our foes


End file.
